Lights Go Out
by Mercurie
Summary: As Castiel grows more human, he loses his memories.


**Title:** Lights Go Out

**Written for:** kadiel_krieger's prompt at sharp_teeth

**Rating:** PG

**Spoilers:** None

**Summary:** As Castiel grows more human, he loses his memories.

* * *

Castiel's got a demon by the throat when something hot flares against his chest. He hisses and lets go, clutching at the thing, tearing it away from his skin. It glows and in the light he can see a stark grimace of terror transform the demon's face. Something else, too: recognition. A moment later she's sprinting, footsteps leaving dark hollows in the sand.

He's holding a necklace with a coal for a pendant. It revolves slightly, a single transfixed firefly on the quiet beach. He's never seen it before. He has no idea how it came to be around his neck.

He turns around in a complete circle, once. To either side there's nothing but emptiness: silvery moonlight on the surf, black cliffs looming further down the shore. He senses nothing. Still, he has the feeling he's being watched. The back of his neck itches.

He turns his attention back to the pendant. His fingers flutter closer; the light has dimmed a little bit. But when he touches the necklace, it's so hot he hurls it away, stunned. The pain burns right through his vessel, bright and real like nothing he's felt before.

Blowing on his fingers, he looks at the spot where the thing disappeared into the ocean. No good way to get it back now. It troubles him, but he makes a mental note to ask Sam about it and puts the matter out of his mind.

* * *

Cas' hands are shaking so badly he can barely hold the phone to his ear. He curses to himself as he stumbles down the muddy road, throwing searching glances over his shoulder every couple of minutes. The clearing is miles back, long out of sight among the trees, but he can't quell the fear that something followed him. They can't have escaped this easily.

Dean finally picks up the phone and Cas hears the shrill note in his own voice when he says, "Where the hell are you?"

Dean sounds confused – innocent. Anger chokes off Cas' breath and it's all he can do to sputter his general location into the phone and tell them to find him. He hangs up.

They left him. He can't quite believe it – they left him back there in that ashen field with the bodies. Bodies ritually laid out to summon Death, and if they'd gotten there just a little bit earlier they might actually have run straight into the final Horseman himself. As it was, they'd met plenty of the things Death had brought with him.

He speeds up, turning his collar up tighter against the rain, and seethes. It doesn't take long before he sees the car, and his relief is so strong he almost forgives Dean and Sam right then. But not quite.

He's ready to tear into them both, but Sam forestalls him.

"Why the fuck didn't you just teleport away?" he says.

The question is so bizarre Cas just stands there with his mouth hanging open, words dying on his tongue.

"What?" he manages at last.

"You know," Dean says, a familiar line forming between his brows, "do your angel shimmy and meet up with us later?"

He recognizes every word, but the question means nothing. The thought flashes through his head that it's a practical joke. Except he can't believe they'd do that, not in a situation like this.

"Angel shimmy?" he says. "I don't understand."

Sam and Dean exchange a look. It's not surprise on their faces, it's a strained kind of resignation. They know something he doesn't, he realizes suddenly. They're keeping something from him.

"What?" he says again, flatly. It's got to be bad, but whatever it is, he wants to know.

But Dean only says, "Never mind."

"We were being jerks," Sam adds. "Sorry, Cas."

There's an air of patronization in the quick dismissal. It gets his hackles up and he can't help being wary, even while he experiences a jolt of dismay at the thought that he doesn't quite trust either of them at the moment.

"You're going to explain this to me later, " he says as they get into the car.

"'Course," Dean says, "we always do." In the rearview mirror, his face looks more tired than Cas has ever seen it.

* * *

He sits on the curb, staring at his fidgeting feet. It's chilly and he's thirsty. He has somewhere to go in just a minute. There's an ache in his head: tired, tired like he's been waiting too long. In just another minute, though, it'll be time to leave.

A shadow falls over him. He looks up to see a tall young man, all exuberant muscle and friendly dimples.

"Waiting for someone?" The question is light, but there's a cruel note in it.

He looks around the empty motel parking lot. There's only one car, black and shiny, a single door hanging open.

"Yes," he says. He's waiting.

The man sits down next to him. "What's your name?"

He doesn't like the question; it makes his head hurt even more. "What's yours?" he counters.

The man considers. "Sam," is the answer, finally, accompanied by a look, a dark twinkling expectant look.

He scrambles to change the subject. "I'm leaving any minute now," he says, avoiding those eyes.

"As soon as he gets here," the man says.

"As soon as he gets here," he agrees.

The breeze shifts, blowing from behind and making him shiver. It carries a smell, sickly-sweet and blooming, nauseating. He looks nervously over his shoulder at the black car, all alone in the lot. Something's rotting inside. Carrion. The stench makes a roiling sickness well up in his gut.

He sees a movement from the corner of his eye and turns his head back. It's the man who called himself Sam, convulsing just once in silent laughter.

"Well," the man says, "just be sure not to leave without him."

"I would never do that," he says, indignant. The wind drops again and he feels a bit better.

"I'm afraid I can't stay and wait with you," the man says. "I've got a world of things to do."

He nods, a little relieved. He doesn't think he likes talking to strangers.

The man stands up and inclines his head slightly. "Best of luck," he says. "I'm sure you two will have a hell of a time together."

There's a pause. His pounding head and the dry ache of his throat make it hard to think. There's something he should do. He looks up at the man's polite, guileless face and it comes to him.

"Thanks," he says. He remembers to smile.


End file.
